


hours at a time, hours at my screen

by CurlyAndQuote



Category: Ghost Quartet - Malloy, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Drabble Collection, cross-posted from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:39:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlyAndQuote/pseuds/CurlyAndQuote
Summary: a collection of ficlets and prompt fills from Tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> individual warnings for each ficlet

(It won't let me set separate beginning and end notes for chapter 1, so. this is Sonyamary, prompt "Bite me." rating: T bordering on M. warnings: none.)

“Well!” Sonya said, as they walked into their apartment. “That’s that! We’re legally married now!” 

“I have to say, I preferred the religious marriage and ceremony a lot more.” Mary watched her wife (god, she loved thinking that, saying it; it was so new and exciting- her wife!) as she walked into the living room, and smiled as she gazed upon perfection.

“Paperwork just isn’t as romantic, is it.”  
Mary didn’t reply, deigning to just stare at Sonya, at the light of her life. The two sat down on the sofa, and Mary snuggled up to Sonya, and tried to surreptitiously count her faint-but-still-present freckles. One, two, three, four-

“Hey!” Sonya said, giggling. “Take a photo, it’ll last longer!”

Mary rolled her eyes lovingly. This joking back-and-forth was perfect for now. “Bite me.” 

The words came out of her mouth before she had considered them fully. She flushed red, pressing a finger into the corner of her eye. Maybe Sonya wouldn’t consider the words-

“Hah!” Sonya laughed, throwing her head back. “If that’s what you want.” 

Mary didn’t know how to express “I didn’t mean it like that but I’m also not entirely opposed to the idea” in a short, succinct sentence, so she opted instead to move slightly closer to Sonya. 

Her lack of words didn’t turn out to be a problem, because Sonya pressed their mouths together then, and Mary was so caught up in the kiss that she barely felt herself being lifted into the air, and then Sonya was carrying her to their room, and moving her lips down to Mary’s chin and neck and collarbone, and biting, and then they were both on the bed, still intertwined around each other, with Sonya’s leg between Mary’s thighs, and it was all so perfect, and Sonya was saying something now, calling her “princess,” and Mary wondered what she had done to be blessed by such a wonderful girlfriend- such a wonderful wife- and then Sonya grabbed her wrists and held them up above Mary’s head gently, and moved her head down, and that was the last coherent thought Mary had for quite some time.

~~~

“You’re going to need to borrow one of my turtleneck sweaters.” Sonya’s voice cut the warm silence. “Or a scarf, or something.”

“Why- never mind.” Mary blushed again, running her fingers over her stinging neck and collarbone. “I like your black turtleneck. I think I’ll wear that out until… for a few days.” 

“What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine, dear.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Sonyamary. Prompt: "Write sonyamary being meme-y/joking around." Rating: G. Warnings: Might make some teeth fall out.

“That smells amazing.” Mary walked up behind Sonya and hugged her around the waist.

Sonya melted into her girlfriend’s arms. “It’s pelmeni."

“Perfect. You’re perfect.” The sentence was an innocuous one, just one of the sweet nothings they would constantly tell each other, but something seemed different. Mary’s voice shook a little bit, and she sounded almost frightened.Come to think of it, Mary was standing stiffly, her arms loose around Sonya, her posture emanating nervousness. Sonya turned down the burner and turned around.

“Mary, dear, is everything all right?” 

“What?” Mary stared like a deer in the headlights, caught out. “No, no, everything’s fine. It’s nothing to worry about. Really.” She fiddled with her necklace, an austere golden cross, and then stuck her right hand in the pocket of her dress.

“Honey, you can tell me anything. I won’t be mad.”

Mary softened slightly under Sonya’s loving gaze. “All right. But… after dinner.”

Sonya nodded concernedly. “All right.”

~~~

All throughout dinner, Mary barely ate a thing. She would pick up her fork, sigh, put it back down, and look at Sonya anxiously. 

Sonya grew more and more nervous, with desperate attempts to get her girlfriend to talk, to smile, to look happy. She despised seeing Mary sad.

“Mary, honey, how was your day?”

“It was okay.”

“Mary, do you not like the pelmeni?"

“No, they’re very good.”

“Mary, did someone say something at work?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I…”

And Sonya watched as Mary grew paler and paler. Several times she ducked her head, looking decidedly uncomfortable. But behind the anxiety, Sonya could detect another emotion, only because she had known Mary for so long. And if Sonya wasn’t terribly mistaken, Mary was… excited? Joyful? There was definitely a hint of a smile in her eyes, and her voice, while shaky, was distinctly hopeful. Weird.  
Sonya ate quickly, desperately curious, hoping that Mary would feel confident enough to tell her what was going on.When she had finished, she tried again. “Mary, love, do you want to tell me something?” 

Mary took a deep breath. “Yes.” That was unexpected. “Let’s… uh. I have no… I don’t know how I’m supposed to… uh. Can we just…” Mary took a huge breath. She looked positively sick now.

“Mary. Mary! Is everything all right?”

“Better than all right.” That was even more unexpected.

And then Mary stood up from her chair, and walked over to where Sonya was standing, and pulled her over to the sofa. Sonya was absolutely bamboozled by now.

Mary moved as though she was going to sit down, but then stopped. And got down on the floor in front of Sonya, on one knee. And reached her hand into her pocket, as she had been doing all evening.

Oh. Sonya understood now. And the world shifted slightly, like in a bad video game, and Mary opened her mouth, and took a deep breath, and said,

“Sonya, these last two years I’ve known you have been the best two years in my life. Every day I spend with you is better than the last day. And I… I’m not very elegant- very eloquent, I mean, but I hope I say this right.” 

Sonya made a small noise. Nothing was real except for Mary. The two were inside a bubble of happiness, of love. She swayed slightly on her feet, unable to take her eyes off the angel in front of her.  
Mary continued. “I… love the way that you make me smile, and the way I can make you smile. I cherish every moment with you. And I’d like to spend the rest of my life in those moments.”

Sonya was halfway to falling over on the spot. Tears were welling in the corner of Mary’s eyes.

She pulled the small velvet box from her pocket. “Sonya Rostova, will you marry me?”

Sonya stood, shell-shocked, staring at Mary. The world spun, the ground dropped away beneath her feet, and she was floating, soaring, caught up in her absolute joy.

She barely even noticed when Mary ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

That snapped Sonya back to reality. She grabbed Mary’s wrists and pulled her up into a standing position, grabbed her by the waist, twirled her around (with no little bit of difficulty), and the two fell on the couch. 

Sonya wrapped her arms around Mary so tight that Mary made a little squealing sound, and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, before capturing her in a passionate kiss.

When the two pulled away, breathing heavily, Sonya looked into Mary’s eyes, and saw the stars and moon and sky and world within them.

“Mary. Mary Bolkonskaya, my princess. I would want nothing more than to marry you.”

“Sonya?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna marry Mary. Heh. Marry Mary! I’m gonna put that on every wedding invitation. Come here to watch me marry Mary.”

“…You seem awfully merry about it.”

“God, I love you."

~~~

Mary fell back onto the sheets, worn out. She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard a giggle.

“What is it, Sonya?” She knew what the answer was going to be already.

“I’m gonna marry Mary.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Danatole. Prompt: "Why did you spare me?" Mafia/Organized Crime AU. Rating: T. Warnings: Death mentions. Not fluffy this time. Not overly sad, though.

Anatole paced around the table. “You can’t just keep saying that I owe you a favor! Goddamn it, Fyodor! How long are you going to milk this?”

“Toto, I saved your life! I think that should count for something!”

“Don’t call me Toto! And I’m not your personal charmer, your professional slut, your gigolo! You can’t keep using me to distract whichever influential person you need dead next!” Anatole scowled and bit his lip.

“And why is that, Kuragin?” Dolokhov emphasized his last name like a curse.

“I didn’t sign up for this! You might think that me getting to fuck a rich lady or man who’s gonna be dead in a week is, like, worthy payoff or whatever, but it’s not! Not for me!"

“Anatole, how many times? We don’t have to pay you! We’re doing you a favor keeping you alive! We-”

“Why did you spare me,Dolokhov?” Anatole’s face was stony cold. 

Dolokhov was blindsided. “What?”

“Why. Didn’t. You. Kill. Me? Why take me in to your little crime ring, train me, and make me part of your cult?” Anatole gestured to Dolokhov’s belt. “You have a gun. Use it. I dare you,” he said mockingly.

Dolokhov hated being teased.

He drew his gun. Pointed it at Anatole.  
And Anatole didn’t flinch. Didn’t move back. Either he was completely at peace with death, or he knew.

Dolokhov couldn’t pull the trigger.

An agonizing two minutes passed. “What’s wrong, Dolokhov the Assassin? Can’t do it? Fine with destroying my life and killing my friends, but you can’t bring yourself to kill me?” His voice was cloying, sharp as a knife. “Maybe the mean old mafia right-hand man had fallen in love with the prisoner! What a fucking wild story that would be! So he ships him off every other week to some lady’s house, huh? Just in the interest of love?” He started to laugh mirthlessly. “Or maybe you’re just a coward. Maybe you’re just scared of guns. Maybe you don’t want to watch me bleed out on the-”

Dolokhov dropped his gun and kicked it over to Anatole. He smiled, a genuine smile, with admittedly little warmth but enough humor to bring back humanity to his face. “I like your attitude.”

“Huh?” Anatole, who had been expecting either a bullet to the heart or a sobbing Dolokhov brokenly expressing his love, was blindsided.

“And you’re perceptive, too! Not too far off the mark. Listen. I’ll make you a deal. A fair one this time. No more endless debt. You’re moving up in the ranks. No more sex assignments and thankless tasks. I’m gonna see if I can put you in charge of planning, or negotiation, or something.”

“And in exchange?”

“Call me Fedya.” Dolokhov pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and threw Anatole another. Anatole snatched it out of mid-air, and threw it back at Fedya. “Can’t ruin my lungs.”

Dolokhov rolled his eyes. “Right.” He walked over, picked up the gun, and shot it into the ceiling. “Welcome to the club.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Danatole. Prompt: "Hey, calm down. He can't hurt you anymore." Rating: G. Warnings: Fic revolves around character having a panic attack/flashback.

It was late at night. Dolokhov sat in his armchair, near the fire, poring over some book. The old house he and Anatole shared in Petersburg creaked and settled.   
Dolokhov sighed. He reread the same sentence for the twelfth time, adjusted his reading glasses, leaned back, and then reached forwards and closed the book with a snap.

He climbed up the staircase, opened the door to his room, expecting to find Anatole asleep in his bed, in the bed they shared.

The bed was empty.

Anatole Kuragin sat at the desk in the corner of the room, his hair mussed, hands grasping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Fedya’s mouth formed an “o”. He rushed to Anatole’s side, not touching him. 

Anatole whipped his head around, shrinking away from Dolokhov.

“No- I promise- I didn’t mean- don’t! Please! I didn’t- leave me be, don’t, what, please, please-” he stammered, and Dolokhov’s heart broke. 

“Anatole, hush,” he said gently, as a mother would console a crying child. “It’s me, Dolokhov. It’s Fedya.” And he reached out a hand to put it on Anatole’s shoulder, but Anatole cried out and flinched backwards so violently he nearly fell out of the chair.

“Anatole! Anatole, can you tell me where you are?”

“…Moscow?”

And Dolokhov could feel himself almost crying, but no, Fyodor, assassins don’t cry, get it together. Be strong for those who couldn't, like he had been doing all his life.

“No, Anatole, you’re in Petersburg. With me. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you know who I am, Tolya?"

The diminutive nudged Anatole back towards consciousness. “Fe-Fedya?"

Dolokhov nodded. “It’s me, Anatole. Your Fedya.” And he cautiously inched his hand forwards, and Anatole flinched but didn’t cry out when Dolokhov placed it on the small of his back. 

“Are you all right?” That was a stupid question. Anatole clearly wasn’t all right. But Dolokhov had to ask.

“I- I thought you were Bezukhov."

“Pierre Bezukhov?” Dolokhov’s hands clenched, remembering the feeling of the gun in his hand.

Anatole nodded. “He threatened me, with the paperweight, and- and he lifted me off the ground, and choked me, and I- I thought he was going to- I thought I was- I thought-” He shook his head, unable to continue.

Dolokhov knew how Anatole felt about death, knew why Anatole had never joined the army, why he wrote to everyone in his family so often. He knew that on the nights Anatole wasn't up all night in someone else's bed, he was up all night in his own, worrying about life and death.

He rubbed his hand consolingly up and down Anatole’s back, sensing how close the blond was to bursting into sobs. “Hey, hey, Tolya. Calm down. He can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooh we branching out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ships: soldierose (spicy n New!) prompts: "I can't keep on fighting like this" and "I could hold you forever". rating: T. warnings: suicide. yeah, this is

Rose was absentmindedly leaning back in her chair, waiting for something to happen. Only thirty minutes until her lunch break, thank god. She clicked her computer mouse absentmindedly.

 

Her phone buzzed. Grateful for a distraction, she flipped it over.

 

 **my soldier ❤️** : im so sorry. i can’t keep fighting like this. please try and move on. i love you.

 

Rose’s heart leapt into her throat and her body leapt into action. Grabbing her phone off her desk and pulling her sweater over her shoulders, she ran towards the door. Her fingers and toes were cold, and she moved as though she was on autopilot. She realized dimly in the back of her mind that she really should be feeling more,shouldn’t be this… numb.

 

Ignoring the stares that her coworkers gave her, she yanked the door open. “Family emergency!” she yelled, already halfway down the corridor, jabbing at the elevator button.

 

She didn’t remember how, but the next minute she was pulling open the door to a yellow taxi. “HelloIneedtogettofifteenthandfirstasfastaspossibleI'llpayyouwhatever”, she gasped out.

 

The taxi driver smiled at her. “Whatever, hmm?” He had a thick Russian accent. “Those are the words I like to hear.” Without waiting for Rose to buckle her seatbelt, he sped off down 42nd street, breaking hundreds of traffic rules.

 

“So, car chase? Escaping from police? Just here for adventure?” he said, grinning. Rose shook her head. Sometime between _then_ and _now_ , her emotions had caught up with her brain, and now tears were threatening to choke her.

 

The driver nodded. “You have a lot of sadness.” And nobody could have said it better.

 

The taxi reached her place. She stuffed a fifty dollar bill towards the taxi driver, and leapt up her front steps and into the building. She unconsciously decided to take the stairs, instead of the elevator. By the time she reached the sixth floor, her legs were burning. She couldn’t remember ever having been more scared. Not even when… no. She needed to focus. She needed to save her girlfriend. She unlocked the door on the third try, hands shaking, and ran into the bathroom.

 

The Soldier sat, curled up, wearing their military uniform, in the bathtub. An empty bottle of sleeping pills lay overturned on the bathroom floor.

 

Rose let out a sound of pure, raw grief, something inhuman.

 

The Soldier didn’t turn their head or move any part of their body, but murmured, “Rose.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

“Honey, shh. It’s going to be all right. I called 911-” she had, hadn’t she, she didn’t remember doing so but she knew that she had. “-You’re going to be fine. We’re-”

 

The Soldier cut her off. “Rose, I’m so sorry.”

 

Rose let out a sound that was half a cough, half a cry. She pressed her face into her elbow. “Don’t say that.”

 

“Will you hold me?” The Soldier was wise beyond their years. They knew Death better than anyone.

 

Rose said, in a small, broken voice, “I could hold you for forever.” All the rage and passion and energy that lived in her heart had flooded out of her with the text. She climbed into the tub and put her arms around the Soldier. They were already cold, she noticed. And that realization was what made her start sobbing.

 

“Forever isn’t real,” the Soldier murmured. And their voice was the voice of a ghost already, so soft, so weak.

 

“Can you tell me what your name is?” Rose asked quietly.

 

“No,” the Soldier replied. “I don’t remember it. I’m sorry.” And with that, their eyes fluttered closed.

 

Rose looked at their face, their suspiciously lingering smile, their brown hair, out of its usual braid, splayed out on the porcelain, tragically beautiful. The army uniform.

 

Someone screamed, so loud and piercing that Rose couldn’t even hear the doorbell. And Rose didn’t even realize that it was her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discussion question: how many people do you think there are that ship soldierose but not sonyamary? extension question: why do people ship brittain and gelseys characters? extension on the extension: why is it soldierose and not rosoldier? ten pages, double spaced. due date: thirtyfirst of November.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @theastronomer (@thespookyastronomer until Halloween)


End file.
